


Volte-face

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Cock & Ball Torture, Cruelty, M/M, Non Consensual, Object Insertion, Prison cruelty, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:03:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert winds up in prison. Terrible things happen to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink meme prompt. I've given up all resistance.

The trial passes in a blur. Javert’s lost track of how many times he’s sworn to his innocence. No one listens.

The irony of the situation is not lost on Javert. How many times has he heard the convicts cry out their innocence, denying their guilt? More times than he can count. Every one of them has proclaimed themselves to be innocent at one point or another and every last one of them was found guilty when they were tried. 

After the sentencing, he’s escorted to a small room and ordered to change into the prison uniform. Disgrace keeps his back straight as he changes, discarding the remnants of his former self.

His existence is relegated to that a number. 

_Irony_ , Javert thinks, _is a cruel mistress_. 

* * *

Javert steps inside the cell. The collar of the prison uniform chafes at his neck. The other prisoner in his cell glares at him, but keeps to his own cot. Javert ignores him, surveying the cell as the door is locked behind him. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. He’s a man, not a number. He belongs on the other side of the prison walls, in another uniform not this one.

* * *

The first night is the longest. Javert can’t sleep. He’d worked so hard to avoid lying here in this exact place. All of his life he’s striven in the opposite direction and here he is, through no fault of his own.

He expects trouble from the other convicts and it’s true they don’t make it easy. Every one of them despises him for his time as a guard. 

It's the prisoners he's wary of. Every guard knows the danger if he were to be found on the wrong side of the prison walls. It's the convicts that he watches, waiting for the attack.

He should have watched the guards.

* * *

The first week passes slowly because Javert knows exactly what to expect. He knows the prison routine as well as the back of his own hand What Javert hadn’t expected was the monotony. The frustration of being forced to stand in a line until the guard ( _Gustave, that little shit_ ) decides you can all finally go to your cells. The degradation of needing to piss and being forced to keep working until the guard at last lets you relieve yourself. 

His back aches from the grueling labor. His hands are cold and the knuckles chapped from working constantly in the briny water. The uniform is too thin; how can he have never noticed that before? Every breeze cuts straight through the cloth. 

The music of the chains haunts his ears. Every step is burdened with them and now he understands the slow reluctance of the convicts to draw attention to themselves when they walk the roads from prison and field and back again. 

Then there is the shame of facing the people who eye the string of convicts as though they’re no more than beasts. Javert watches them, and recognizes the disgust in their eyes. It is how he looked upon them once. 

* * * 

They’re supposed to work in the fields today. Javert keeps his gaze focused on the front of the line. At least the labor will distract him from his situation. 

Five feet from the gate Brun claps a hand on his shoulder. “You, 42405,” (He takes great delight in calling Javert by that) “Come with me.”

Javert doesn’t argue with him. They’ve done their duty side by side for the last four years ever since Brun came to work at the prison. He’s a dour, squatty man, but now his expression is unnaturally expectant. The back of Javert’s neck prickles warily as Brun escorts him back inside the prison, down the hallway towards the cells.

“Is there something wrong?” Javert asks. Perhaps the judge has reconsidered his appeal. Perhaps.

Brun shoves him forward through the door. “Shut your mouth.”

“What’s going on?” Javert demands. There are four other guards waiting in the cell and he knows all of their names. 

Another guard, Galois, relatively new, he’s only been at Toulon for one year, steps forward. “We will gag you if necessary.

“Necessary for what?” Javert turns towards him and the first baton slams into his back, the weight of the blow surprising him.

"What's the meaning of this?" He turns to face his assailant and the next blow falls squarely across his face. Javert's head reels back. He stumbles, trying to maintain his balance, wiping the blood from his face. Another blow hits his arm and he cries out in surprise, more than pain.

It's the treachery of it that wounds him. He was among their ranks only a few weeks ago, and now they treat him worse than the convicts in their care.

Two of them strike at him together and he hits out blindly as another baton catches him across the back. Javert falls heavily. 

He waits for more violence now that he's down, but instead his arms are seized and he's pulled upright to his feet.

"Why're you doing this?"

None of them will answer him. 

Blood drips from Javert’s nose and mouth as they chain him, arms yanked tight above his head. 

If he had truly committed the crime they had said he’d done, he could understand their desire for punishment, but this pointless brutality bewilders him. He’s never been well liked, but this aggression? This violence? Where does it come from? He’d purely intended to do his job, and he’d done it. Why was this happening?

Perhaps they believe him to be guilty and are angered that one of them would commit such a crime.

“I swear to you, I never stole from the prefect,”

A baton beats a sharp rhythm across his shoulders. “Be quiet.”

Tension pulls at his shoulders and Javerte strains, unable to believe he's restrained here in this position. This whole situation is untenable.

“If you only,” 

The gag tied tightly around his mouth is foul and damp. He chokes as another blow hits his hip. He's done nothing but his duty. Why would they hate him? What he has done to anger them?

"Whoreson." Gustave spits on Javert’s back. "I should make you suck my cock."

“Later, man. Later. There is plenty of time.” 

Javert twists furiously in his chains until Brun circles and stops in front of him. There he rams his truncheon between Javert’s legs, striking him cruelly across the groin. 

Javert’s cry is lost in the gag. The pain distracts him and he almost doesn’t hear Roche’s belt as the man pulls it loose.

The rough leather of the belt bites into his skin and Javert’s teeth clench hard into the gag. It’s sweaty in his mouth. They tied it too tight, letting it dig into the sides of his mouth. 

Each lash sends fresh fire shooting across his back. His head drops lower between his shoulders 

He hasn't been beaten since he was a child. The ignominy of it irks Javert almost more than the pain itself. What is this supposed to do to him? Shame him? Clearly they know little of Javert's reputation, less of his past. He can bear this, but can they bear the weight of their deeds? He thinks not.

The blows cease at last. He waits for them to release him and send him on his way now that they’ve had their sport. 

As the minutes grow longer and they make no move to do so, Javert grows slowly anxious. Why keep him here further? He can hear the men laughing as they pass a bottle back and forth amongst them. If this were occurring on his watch, he would be furious.

One of them, Menard, he thinks, kicks at his legs. “I wager we could go another round, make him shout good and proper.”

“No,” It’s Brun who says this, and Javert strains to hear his reasoning. “I have something else in mind.”

Javert’s curiosity fades when the man puts his hand between his legs. Brun squeezes him cruelly and Javert moans as agony returns anew to tender flesh.

He’s still in shock when Brun slips around behind him, tugging at his trousers and underclothes till they pool around his ankles. 

The guards survey him as he hangs here, laughing rudely at his state of undress. 

Brun lays a meaty hand on Javert’s backside. “I do hope you learned some tricks from your slut of a mother.”

Javert’s hands twist in the chains. 

Groping hands pull at him, spreading him open and he struggles, thrashing until Roche sets his truncheon against Javert’s balls. The guard smiles at him, and then strikes him hard.

Javert screams then as Brun enters him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't warn enough for the terrible things that happen to Javert. SERIOUSLY, THIS IS NOT A NICE STORY.

It's a pain unlike any he's ever known, and Javert has known his fair share of pain.

He's grown up in cruel poverty, briefly sheltered by a woman barely capable of looking after herself, let alone a child. A prison is no place to raise a child, but nevertheless Javert survived. The world is not a kind place, but up until now it has retained its reason in Javert's eyes.

This base sexual violence is beyond his comprehension. He can only hang there as Brun rapes him, his hands sweaty on Javert's hips. Every slap of his balls against Javert’s backside is an affront, every forced thrust, a preposterous insult.

Brun grunts, cock jerking heavily, and at long last spills his seed into Javert's hole. It trickles down Javert’s bare thighs as the man withdraws from his body.

"He’s even tighter than I expected." Brun slaps Javert heartily across his bare cheeks. "It seems the noble Javert is indeed a virgin after all."

There’s a chorus of coarse laughter and then Galois steps over to stand behind him. The man's thick fingers pry at his cheeks, exposing him. The guard spits crudely, his spit sliding down the cleft of Javert’s ass.

He pushes two fingers into Javert at once. "Christ, you're right. He's tight as a maiden's cunt." He twists his fingers.

The gag doesn’t quite muffle Javert’s whimper, and Galois grins as he reaches up to pull it free. “What was that, Javert? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Javert had thought the pain could get no worse, but now there's a hand pressing tightly on his balls as the fingers swivel inside him.

"Beg me," Galois whispers, forcing Javert’s body round to face him. Javert stares blankly at him and the hand presses harder on his balls. "Beg me for my cock."

Javert gathers what little strength he still possesses and wets his lips. "I would not lower myself to do such a thing if you were the last man on earth."

The hand grips his balls viciously and he moans.

The fingers claw their way out of him and then Galois shoves into him hard and brutal. His cock moves at a steady grueling pace. Javert counts the man’s strokes in his head. How does the man have this much energy in him? Surely he has to tire at some point?

It seems an eternity before Galois comes at last. This time there’s a faint trickle of blood joining the ooze slinking out of Javert’s body.

There’s a coppery taste in his mouth, and Javert realizes he’s bitten through his lip. He spits blood on the cell floor.

These are men he’s worked with. Perhaps they’re jealous of his career, not that it has been particularly auspicious so far, but men will find any cause for jealousy if they so desire to do so.

Gustave though, he’s young He doesn’t even have a full beard yet. He’s been at the prison less than a year. He has his whole career ahead of him. What satisfaction can it bring him to look at Javert with so cruel an expression as he does now?

His baton slides under Javert’s balls, raising them carefully for inspection, then he moves it under Javert’s length, pushing it cruelly up towards his belly.

Javert winces, which only makes Gustave smile. He lowers it, and then strikes Javert hard across the cock.

Javert’s cry is that of a wounded animal, guttural and tormented.

Gustave waits till the pain recedes and Javert can finally draw breath again, and then calmly, he does it again. Pain explodes throughout Javert’s body and he sees nothing but white behind his eyes, the agony racking his torso.

Gustave trails the baton up over Javert’s chest up under his chin. “Are you quite determined not to beg me, Javert?”

Javert struggles to focus. The guard’s face blurs before him, but he strains toward the voice. “You must live a very dull existence if this is how you slake your prurient longings.”

Gustave’s mouth tightens.

The baton lands upon Javert’s mouth. His lips crack and bleeds afresh.

Gustave strikes him again on his side, and then over his buttocks. The blows fall on forming bruises; pain blooms over Javert’s body. His head rolls back and he hangs limply in his chains.

He’s nearly unconscious when Gustave drives the truncheon inside him. The guard jerks the truncheon half a dozen times making Javert’s body turn and jerk this way and that. Gustave laughs loudly, and Javert gnaws the inside of his mouth to keep from screaming again.

Gustave’s own breath is coming in quick, heavy pants, as he strokes his cock with his free hand. The off-rhythm jolts the truncheon even further inside Javert. Gustave groans as his mess hits the backs of Javert’s legs, hot and demeaning.

Gustave releases the truncheon, but instead of pulling it free, he leaves it buried inside Javert as he steps back.

“He’s as good as a whore.” Gustave wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“You didn’t even stick your cock in him.” Menard points out with a chuckle.

“This is just as sweet, I swear.” Gustave wiggles the end of the baton, laughing as Javert wriggles helplessly.

“There will be plenty of time to fuck him later,” Gustave adds. “He’s not going anywhere.” He claps his hand on Javert’s shoulder.

“True enough,” Menard agrees. They finish their bottle of wine before they leave the cell.

They leave Javert hanging there for the remainder of the day, the truncheon sticking lewdly out of him, a pool of come and blood gathering below him.


	3. Chapter 3

 

By the time they take him down from the chains Javert’s barely conscious. Two of the guards drag him off to one of the cells and leave him there. He lays on the bed, unable to move, the pain clawing up his torso until he wants to scream.

Javert buries his face in the coarse pallet. He takes deep breaths until he can manage to lean over the side of the bed and vomits, slow and steadily until his stomach cramps and he falls back upon the bed groaning.

He sleeps for a little while, in fitful segments. Every time he turns, his body throbs with agony. When he wakes at last it’s a little better, but not much.

*  *   *

For the first day, Javert merely lays there on his belly, staring at the wall, waiting for someone to come fetch him, forcing him to the line of the convicts, or worse, to drag him back to that cell.

To his surprise neither happens and he’s left alone for three long painful days. There’s food brought to him and water, but beyond that’s he’s left alone. Never has Javert been so grateful for the neglectful ways his fellow guards have fallen into, even as their indifference to his well-bearing sows more bitterness within him. If Javert had found a prisoner being treated in this manner he would have reported it immediately and had the guard responsible punished or dismissed.

Now he is in no position to do either and it galls him no end.

*  *  *

On the fourth day Javert slowly, wincingly makes his way over to the bucket of water in the corner of the cell. He washes himself slowly, biting back the sobs of pain. There’s dried blood and semen encrusted up and down his thighs. He uses up almost all the water cleaning himself, but it’s worth it to feel slightly better.

*  *  *

On the fifth day Roche comes to his cell and prods at him with his baton. “On your feet.”

Javert stands slowly.

At least they’re only working in the courtyard today, transporting supplies for the prison’s stock room.

Javert walks very slowly, ignoring the lash when it falls on his back. One step at a time. Some of the guards take it easy on him, and he makes note of their faces, reminding himself that sometimes people can be kind. It’s become a foreign notion to his mind.

*  *  *

It’s midday when he sees two guards bring a man out of the cells. The convict raises his hand, blocking the sunlight as he squints around the courtyard.

Javert stills, clutching the sack of grain in his arms. For how could he have forgotten 24601? The convict had tried to escape again not long before Javert’s arrest and been placed in solitary as a punishment. Has he been in there all this time? If Javert still wore the uniform of a guard, Javert would report that treatment as inhumane, but these things don’t concern him now. He keeps his head down. He has no desire for 24601 to notice him.

*  *  *

By the end of the day Javert has forgotten the man again. Focusing on the labor at hand distracts him for now. He doesn’t want to dwell on 24601 so he lets the man drift from his mind as he works.

Slowly, they’re herded back inside in the prison walls. Never before has Javert noticed how slow every process is in in the prison. It takes an eternity for the line to move along until finally he’s through the gate.

*  *  *

As soon as they’re released from their chains, a convict Javert doesn’t recall, grabs his shoulder, shoving him up against the wall. Javert swings at him, catching the convict in his gut but the man is quick and he returns with a savage blow to Javert’s kidneys, making him go to his knees. The convict wrenches Javert’s head back by the hair, tugging at his trousers until he has his cock out. Grasping his cock, he thrusts it into Javert’s unwilling mouth.

Distantly Javert realizes there’s a man standing behind the convict’s shoulder, gazing down at him. It takes him a moment to recognize 24601.

24601 merely stares at him incredulously, and then Javert shoves out at the convict restraining him, hitting him in the thigh. The convict snarls, backhanding Javert across the cheek. Javert bites down and the man howls, knocking him to the ground. He aims a kick at Javert’s stomach but it never comes.

Javert catches the man’s foot and pulls upward hard, letting the convict fall backward. The convict lands with a heavy thud. Slowly Javert gets to his feet.  He spits the stink of the convict from his mouth. The other convicts eye him and he waits for one of them to attack next.

Instead 24601 clasps the hand on the arm of another prisoner. “Drag him to his cell before the guard comes.” He watches Javert like a hawk and at last Javert goes to his own cell.

He waits, every bone in his body aching.

*  *  *

Eventually 24601 looms in the doorway to his cell. “What trick of fate is this?” He nods at Javert. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve always been here.” Javert says humorlessly.

24601 grimaces. “You know what I mean.”

“They said I stole from the prefect. The court ruled I was a thief.” Javert can hear his own voice speak, yet the words are still somehow not his. They’re untrue.

“Who would stand to gain from your dismissal and disgrace?"24601 asks.

“No one.” What did he have that anyone would want? Nothing.

“The other guards, they’re not jealous?”

Javert frowns. “What does it matter to you?”

24601 flinches. “If one such as you can be caught in this hole, then it means there is little hope for any of us to live justly.”

It annoys Javert to no end to hear the man voicing his own thoughts.

“You must trust the system.” He tells 24601.

“Do you, even now?” 24601 presses.

Javert cannot answer.

“What will you do?”

“I will try to keep my eyes where they belong and do my labor and hope that the eyes of the guards don’t fall upon me again.”

“Again?” 24601 waits.

But Javert remains silent.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re bleeding.” 24601 says abruptly, nodding downward at him.

Javert frowns and looks. There’s just a few drops on the pallet between his legs, but it's definitely blood. “It’s nothing.” He murmurs. If 24601 would only leave him in peace, he could examine himself at least. But he has no water to wash with, nothing to clean himself with. How can the men live like this? Frustrated, his fingers dig into the rough mattress beneath him.

24601 just eyes him. “Wait here.” He goes out of the cell.

There’s nowhere for Javert to go, else he wouldn’t possiblythink of doing what the convict told him. So he sits there, trying not to think about tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that. If he is given time, his body will recover eventually. The thought is wearying, instead of reassuring as he once would have thought.

A short while later 24601 returns with a bucket of fresh water and a strip of clean linen cloth.

“Where did you get those?” Javert stares at them.

“Some of the guards can be traded with.” 24601 holds them out to him. “Here.”

“I want nothing from you.” Javert says curtly. He can’t take gifts from a convict.  

24601’s face darkens. “I could hold you down and simply look for myself.”

It’s an ugly threat. If Javert still wore the uniform of a guard, he would strike 24601 for it. He longs for those days. But now, here, all Javert can do is take the offering silently.

He stands there waiting and finally 24601 leaves, closing the cell door behind him.

Javert eases his trousers down slowly to lessen the pain. It’s just a little blood, probably from the effort of moving around today. Javert washes himself carefully, wincing. He scrubs at the blood spots on the trousers until they wash out. He’s still so sore as he pulls them back up over his thighs.

He rinses out his mouth as well from the taste lingering there. It takes five mouthfuls of water before Javert’s tongue feels clean again.

Spitting the water out in the corner of the cell, Javert watches it soak into the stone, before he curls up carefully on his side on the cot and stares at the wall.

His cellmate hasn’t returned these last few days. Javert can’t find it within himself to worry about this.

Now he owes 24601. It’s not a pleasant thought.

*  *  *

The next day 24601 watches him out of the corner of the eye as they work side by side. Javert does his best to ignore it, but he can tell the man is observing him closely. No doubt 24601 is wondering why he’s moving slower than usual, not to mention how he found Javert the other day. The man isn’t stupid. It won’t take long for 24601 to realize.

During their break at midday, Javert sits stiffly against the wall, eating in silence. He can feel 24601’s eyes on him. Javert refuses to meet his gaze. Will the man never let him be?

When they form a line to return to their work, 24601 falls into step easily beside Javert. Javert automatically takes half a step away from him. If 24601 is seeking recompense for his help yesterday, now is the wrong moment to try it.

“The guards must know,” 24601 breaks off, confused at Javert’s quiet harsh laugh.

“Oh, the guards know.” Javert prefers to keep this matter to himself, but surely the man must have realized what happened by now. He never took 24601 for a naïve person. Yet by the long moments it takes for realization to dawn in 24601’s eyes, apparently some remnant of his innocence endures. Javert finds the idea astounding that even here in the mire of Toulon, such a man can still draw breath.

“I’m sorry.” 24601 murmurs.

Strangely, Javert believes him. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear. “I don’t want your pity.”

24601 shrugs. “There’s little enough of it around here.” He glances at Javert. “You may be glad of it before long.”

“And what will you require in return?”

24601 loses a step, startled by Javert’s words. “I,”

“I’ve been on the other side of the prison wall for the last three years and now I walk alongside you. You obviously have some motive in your actions. I merely wish to know what they are.” Javert’s tongue dries in his mouth as he utters the words. Supposing 24601 desires the same thing as the guards? His body aches at the thought. Javert tugs his collar a little closer to his neck.

24601 blinks at him. “I don’t,”

“You there!” One of the guards point at them. “Quiet down!”

24601 dares to speak on. “Javert, I didn’t,”

Roche brings his truncheon down across 24601 back. “He said be quiet!”

24601’s shoulders absorb the blow. He merely faces the guard straight on, keeping his head up. Roche’s fingers tighten on the truncheon, glaring at him, but at last he walks on.

24601 regains his place in line, but this time he doesn’t speak any more.

Javert merely continues on in silence, thinking over what just happened. The convict knows his name. Javert has guarded this prison for three years, seen 24601 almost every single day for those three years.

He’s never once thought about 24601’s name.


	5. Chapter 5

Javert tenses as the cell door opens and closes again. Everything in him is prepared to attack first this time. He readies his fist and strikes out at the figure looming over him, only to have his arm caught and pinned back to his chest.

“Be still.”

It’s 24601. Javert freezes at the realization, but only for a second. He struggles, but 24601 merely pushes him further over on the cot and lays down beside him.

Javert hits out with his other hand and 24601 blocks it.

“ _Lie still_.” He claps a hand over Javert’s mouth. Javert promptly bites him and 24601 grunts, and then Javert hears it. The leisurely footsteps of a guard passing by the cells. He ceases his struggles and 24601’s grip eases slightly on his wrists. They lay there close together in the dark, waiting. Javert can hear 24601’s ragged breath.

The guard pauses by the door for a brief, agonizing moment, and then finally moves on.

24601 pulls his hands away. “You have the teeth of a police dog.”

“Touch me again and,”

“Calm yourself.” 24601 almost sounds amused. “I’m not here to fuck you.”

“I find that hard to believe when you’re lying so near.” Javert retorts. The man is too close. He shifts away. Then… “Why are you here then?”  

24601 hesitates. “I paid the guard 2 francs to be able to do so.”

Javert twists savagely and the man catches his arms again. “They’re selling me?”

“Who wouldn’t want to fuck one who’s been a guard?” Now 24601’s voice is quiet and serious. He takes no pleasure in telling Javert this. It’s poor consolation.

“Yet you apparently do not.” Javert pulls his hands away; 24601 lets him.

“I have a different desire.”

“Oh?” Javert’s can’t conquer the fear rising in his chest.There’s no way to escape this.

“You know this prison.” 24601 leans in until his face is only a breath away from Javert’s, lowering his voice. “What would you think of escaping?”

“What?” Javert can’t believe his ears.

“If you had a chance to escape, would you take it?”

“You’re mad.” He is alone with a mad man.

“Am I?” 24601 whispers. “You were a guard. You know the ways of the prison. Out of all the men within these walls, you have the best chance of escaping.”

The convict has it all planned out, Javert realizes. He sees the logic of it even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

“You say you were falsely arrested.” 24601 continues. “Then why wouldn’t you take the chance and run if the opportunity was presented to you?”

“And take you with me, I suppose?” Javert says dryly.

“Would you have considered escaping if I hadn’t brought it to mind?” 24601 demands. The force of his words brings hot breath upon Javert’s cheek. He pulls further away until he’s pressed up against the wall before he responds.

“No.” Javert has to admit that.

“Two have a better chance to escape than one.” 24601 reasons.

“First, that is false. All of the two convict escape attempts have been caught more quickly than the solo ones. Two, I was falsely accused, 24601. You, however, were not.”

24601 tenses. “You still hold yourself above me.” His hand tightens on Javert’s shirt. “I, who,”

“I never asked for your kindness.” Javert mutters.

24601 pushes him hard into the wall, the stone hard against his back. “You are a lesser man than I thought, Javert.” He moves away, siting up. “If you speak of this to anyone,”

“Who would I tell?” Javert’s provoked into answering.

“Your kind always finds someone to report to.” 24601 says bitterly. Then he’s gone.

The lock slides back into place.

Javert lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, surprisingly stung by 24601’s words.

Once, perhaps, if he had heard the slightest whisper of an escape attempt he would have reported the matter immediately. Now Javert owes no loyalty to the guards and whatever crimes 24601 has committed in the past, he wouldn’t deserve the punishment that would be meted out to him for planning an escape. Sometimes the thoughts were punished more harshly than the deeds. Javert had little stomach for them in the past. Now he has even less.  

 *  *  *

24601 keeps his distance for the next few days. When he looks in Javert's his gaze sweeps over him dismissively. So his kindness had been done only in the hopes that Javert would aid his escape. Somehow, while Javert respects the man for that (it’s a design he can understand even if he can’t condone it) Javert can’t deny the slight, odd disappointment at the realization.

He finds himself speculating on 24601’s plans. Will he try to escape on his own? Will he try to bring in another man now that Javert has refused to help him? Or now will he submit and accept his fate? Javert finds himself curious, even though he knows it doesn’t truly concern him. There's little else to occupy his thoughts, except the constant unease over his situation.

The days pass and Javert walks more easily now. His body slowly recover, the bruises fade.  At last he can piss without wincing. He doesn’t flinch when the guards pass by, but he wants to.

Especially Gustave who makes a habit of rattling his truncheon along the bars at night as he does his rounds. Every night Javert lies awake, long after the guard has passed by, wondering if they’ll dare again. For if they’ve done it once, there’s nothing to stop them from revisiting the terror upon him again.

Javert waits, every moment wearying him. There is nothing to do but wait.


	6. Chapter 6

The days go by one by one and 24601 remains within the walls of Toulon. If he still plans to escape, it’s a plan long in the making. Now that it’s been brought to his attention, Javert can’t stop thinking about it. If he were to plan such an escapade (which he wouldn’t, of course), Javert would make his escape out through the north gate. It’s only used when the convicts were led to the granaries every two months. He knows where the keys are kept inside the storeroom. The difficulty lies in reaching them.

Javert knows how to pick a lock, if he had the right tools. It’s one of the many things he learned in his childhood and has never had a use for.

Until now.

Not that he has a use for it now. It’s nothing to do with him. But the idea grows in his mind when he lies awake in his cell at night. It’s something to distract himself from the patrolling guards and the whispered comments. He’s desperate enough that he’ll welcome any distraction.

 *  *  *

This week they’re working in the quarry, collecting and transporting stone to repair part of the western wall. The quarry is one of Javert’s least favorite labor locations. He disliked it when he was a guard, and he likes it even less now. The thick dust from the stone gathers on your clothes and hair, settling deep in your lungs. Both the convicts and the guards cough for days after working there even if it’s only for a short while.

He takes a moment, wiping the dust from his eyes.

“You,” Roche moves over to him. “Stop lagging.” He nods at a large boulder besides Javert. “Pick it up.”

Javert studies the boulder. It would be a difficult task for any man, near impossible for some of the smaller convicts. He crouches, setting his back to the task. Shifting it slightly, he almost has it, when Roche brings his truncheon down hard upon his back. “We _are_ slow today, apparently. Come on, heft it!”

Javert grits his teeth and tries again. Roche does the same thing. This time he strikes Javert across his right hand. The blow makes Javert cry out, tears stinging his eyes.

Roche grins. “Come on, you can do this."

Javert has never struck another guard. The few men who dare such things are punished. He’s seen the punishments dealt out, has meted them out himself as well. His uninjured hand clenches into a first. It would be so easy…

“Come on, Javert.” Roche taunts, poking the truncheon in his chest. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Let me.” 24601’s voice breaks in coolly. He brushes past Javert’s shoulder. “Some of us are more suited to this work.” He barely grunts as he lifts the boulder, carrying it away. In that instant, Javert finds himself unable to voice any objection. All he can do is watch 24601’s back as he walks away.

Roche eyes him. “So you do have a protector.” He spits at Javert’s feet. “Is he a good fuck then, Javert?”

Javert doesn’t know what possess him to answer back, but he does. “Better than you would be.”

Roche strikes him across the face and Javert stumbles backward. “Get back to work.”

Javert obeys, keeping his eyes down. The blow was worth it.

 *  *  *

As he works, he can’t help noticing the other convicts eying him more openly. Their eyes are heavy on his skin. Javert keeps busy, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze. It's an unpleasant feeling.

He finds the convict during the break for their midday meal.

“There was no need for you to do that,” He tells 24601 who ignores him, continuing to eat his meal. 

“In another moment you would have struck him.” 24601 says calmly. “Think, Javert. If they put you in solitary.” He doesn’t need to say any more.

Javert pales. How could he not have considered that?

“Perhaps it would be easier in the dark.” 24601 murmurs.

Javert recoils. “You know nothing.” He bites the words out.

24601 just glances at him and Javert flushes. “I…didn’t mean, if that…” He stumbles hesitatingly over the words. He knows nothing of the man. Perhaps a similar attack has been visited upon 24601. If so Javert is indeed sorry for it, but the thought of being locked in the dark, waiting for them is worse than being stuck in the cells at night. His skin grows clammy. He hadn’t thought there could be worse yet to come, and now there’s nothing else to think of.

“No one deserves that.” 24601 says. “I am sorry it has happened.” Javert blinks at the sound of the man voicing his own thoughts.

24601 shrugs. “I only think you haven’t thought of all the concerns.” He stands, and for a moment stands unnecessarily close to Javert. “Think again on what I said.”

He’s seeking to help, but only succeeding in bringing the reality of Javert’s situation home to him. This is all there is.

Another convict stops alongside them. He gives Javert an insolent look, running his eyes up and down Javert’s body, before turning to 24601. “He’s yours then?”  He nods at Javert.

Javert glares at both him and 24601 equally in turn. If the man does such an idiotic thing as attempt to claim him, Javert will not be responsible for his actions.

24601 glances at Javert as though he’s considering it, then. “No.”

Javert relaxes slightly, but only for a moment.

“I merely paid Roche a sou to enter his…cell.” The insinuation is plain enough and the other convict snorts with laughter.

Javert glares at 24601 and the man merely gazes back.


End file.
